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I stood aside and let them file past me. Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer moved very nimbly for one who had just been revived by smelling-salts. As her husband went by, he half halted in front of me. A curious glitter leaped into his fishy eyes. "I'd give a thousand dollars to be free to do what you did to that insufferable puppy, Mr. Mr. ahem. A cool thousand, damn him!"
I do not know why I should have felt the way I did about it on this occasion, but I am mean enough now to confess that I hailed the triumphal entry of that pernicious odour with a meanness of spirit that leaves nothing to be explained. "Good gracious!" gasped the aristocratic Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer, holding her nose. "Do you smell that"? "Onions! My Gawd!" sniffed Maude. "How I hate 'em!" Mr.
I moved forward apologetically. "I am afraid it is not onions you smell, ladies and gentlemen." I had taken my cue with surprising quickness. "They are raising the dead. The place is fairly alive with dead rats and " "Good Lord!" gasped Riley-Werkheimer. "We'll get the bubonic plague here." "Oh, I know onions," said Rocksworth calmly. "Can't fool me on onions. They are onions, ain't they, Carrie?"
Riley-Werkheimer walked past me to take a closer look at the seat, almost treading on my toes rather than to give an inch to me. "How can you prove that it's the genuine article?" he demanded curtly. "You have my word for it, sir," I said quietly. "Pish tush!" said he. Mr. Rocksworth turned in the direction of the banquet hall. "Carrie!" he shouted. "Come here a minute, will you?"
"I regret to say that I have never heard of Mr. Riley-Werkheimer. I did not know that Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer's husband was living. And may I ask who you are?" "Oh, I am also a nobody," said he, with a wink at his purple-jowled companion. "I am only poor old Rocksworth, the president of the " "Oh, don't say anything more, Mr. Rocksworth," I cried. "I have heard of you. This fine old spinet?
There are three of them, all from New York City, and they keep on saying they are completely ravished, sir, with joy, I take it. Your great sideboard in the dining-room is to go to Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer, and the hall-seat that the first Baron used to throw his armour on when he came in from " "Great snakes!" I roared. "They haven't moved it, have they? It will fall to pieces!" "No, sir.
Rocksworth forgot his dignity. "Hate 'em?" he cried, his eyes rolling. "I just love 'em!" "Orson!" said his wife, transfixing him with a glare. "What will people think of you?" "I like 'em too," admitted Mr. Riley-Werkheimer, perceiving at once whom she meant by "people." He puffed out his chest.
It suddenly occurred to me that the situation was humorous. "You will have to produce your references, gentlemen, before I can discuss anything with you," I said, after swallowing very hard. They stared. "Good Lord!" gasped the bristly one, blinking his eyes. "Don't you know who this gentleman is? You you appear to be an American. You must know Mr. Riley-Werkheimer of New York."
Riley-Werkheimer had dropped in the excitement, and he informed Mr. Poopendyke that the whole party was leaving at four for Dresden. I asked particular about the young man, sir, and he said they had the doctor in to treat his stomach, sir, immediately after they got back to the hotel." "His stomach? But I distinctly struck him on the verso."
"Pardon me," I interrupted, "I merely said that he sat in it. I am not trying to deceive you, sir." "And the treaty was signed on this table," said Mr. Riley-Werkheimer. He addressed himself to a plump young lady with a distorted bust and a twenty-two inch waist. "Maude, what do you know about the Roman-Teutonic treaty? We'll catch you now, my friend," he went on, turning to me.
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